


The Coat

by Fjalldis



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Fluff, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fjalldis/pseuds/Fjalldis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long night in the War Room, you awaken to find yourself with an item of clothing that is not yours.  Returning it to its rightful owner becomes no easy task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coat

**Author's Note:**

> Contains mild spoilers for Dragon Age: Inquisition.
> 
> Not-really-faithful to the in-game canon surrounding the kiss between Cullen and the Inquisitor.

It was getting late. The candles that lit the stone interior of Skyhold's War Room flickered with an amber glow, their wax overflowing the catchers of the candelabras and dripping to the floor. You had pulled up a chair to the stately table, made from a solid piece of oak bearing the maps of Ferelden and Orlais to pore over the current missions across the two lands and thinking about the best strategies to obtain a favourable outcome for The Inquisition. 

There were three primary methods to execute missions, and deployment of forces was dependent on the nature of the mission and persons involved. Josephine used her connections with the nobility as leverage for negotiations, while Leliana used her network of spies to achieve objectives in more underhanded ways. Then there was Cullen, the ex-Templar, who used the might of his soldiers to push for victory. Things got off on a bit of an awkward foot when you had inadvertently begun flirting with him soon after arriving in Haven, only to then have to be face-to-face with him at _every_ meeting with the War Council. It wasn't all bad though. You actually secretly delighted in watching the handsome commander saunter into the room to take his place at the table opposite from you. Although you generally averted your eyes, on the odd occasion that you glanced up at him, he'd always break in to his haughty smirk, which never failed to send a hot flush to your cheeks. 

You lean back into the chair and expel a loud sigh, anxious of the proceedings of tomorrow's council. Sometimes choosing a strategy was easy, as some of the parties would flatly refuse to send their agents on certain missions. Other times it was like a civil war between the three leaders as to who best to dispatch - for those times, you were responsible for the decision making after listening to them plead their cases. Looking over your notes, the words start to blur, causing you to rub your eyes to regain a brief moment of focus. ' _Perhaps I'll take a nap,'_  you think, folding your arms on the table in front of you and resting your head on top of them. The growing chill of the room (was it always this cold in here?) and fatigue lull you into slumber. One by one, the candles flicker out. 

_***_  
 _The howling wind sends snow swirling around you, thousands of flakes striking your face like tiny shards of glass. An abandoned campsite, its blackened coals emanating warmth. "They're still warm, right?" you try to convince yourself, hopeful that there may be help nearby. There is nothing around you but glaring white and a guard tower in ruins._

_You continue on, your breathing becoming more laboured as you trudge through the knee-deep snow. Movement getting ever slower as your body aches from your prior encounter with Corypheus hours ago ... Or was it days ago, now?_

_You hear shouts. Familiar voices. Cassandra's and Cullen's!_

_Fighting back tears, you slump down with relief into the snowdrift as blinding dizziness and searing pain grips you. The last thing you remember is being lifted out of the snow and placed into a pair of strong arms, your head being held against a fur-covered chest._

_"Thank the Maker we found you."_  
 _***_

It is something tickling your cheek that awakens you from your sleep. The room is dark and your vision is partly obscured by long dark strands of ... Hair? Fur? You jolt back upright into your chair, the item that was cocooning you sliding to the floor. How long had you been asleep for? You were only supposed to be resting your eyes! Pushing the chair out, you stand up and look down at the burgundy and gold fur-trimmed pile pooled ungraciously around the chair's feet. 

It is only when you pick it up that you realise it to be Cullen's overcoat. Never one to stop, he must have entered the War Room to review strategies while you were asleep and draped it over you like a rudimentary blanket. Smiling at that thought, you wrap it around your shoulders and head over towards the stained-glass windows. You take in the morning's stillness as you gaze out at the faded purple pre-dawn sky and the endless mountain ranges. Wrapping the coat around yourself tighter, you slowly breathe in its scent - your senses swirling with notes of earth, embers and birch. A scent that conjures an image of strength and age befitting of a man who has been through so much, too much, over the years. From the events in the Harrowing Chamber at the Circle Tower, to watching his leader, Knight-Commander Meredith, spiral into madness at Kirkwall, and his current struggle with lyrium withdrawal - the latter taking you by surprise when he confided in you after a meeting at his quarters. As you take deeper breaths, flashes of the commander cutting through a horde of enemies against the burning backdrop of Haven fill your mind. 

Something snaps you back to reality and that is the thought of getting the coat back to its rightful owner. Imagine if you were caught carrying it? What sort of questions would be asked? How did you get that? Why do you have that? _... Were you and Cullen together last night?_ Oh, Maker. That last thought nearly makes your heart leap into your throat. There's still time before the sun rises, so it should be quiet enough around Skyhold to make your way through its halls and to Cullen's quarters on the battlements. You are a rogue by trade, after all, but it doesn't make you any less nervous as the thought of being spotted bruises your confidence. Removing the coat and draping it over your arm, you slowly open the room's imposing double doors as you make your escape. 

Crouched down and glancing back at the slumped body beside the doorway, you hurry along the battlements, that familiar tower in your sights. Making your way through the main building was uneventful, for the most part, apart from when you were forced to use your sleep dust on that guard that caught you by surprise when you opened the door to the outside. You reach the tower's door and take a moment for your heart-rate to steady itself before clenching your fist and holding it up, ready to knock. _'But what if he's still asleep?'_ You hesitate, then hold your breath as you slam your knuckles against the solid timber in three forceful raps that you swear you can hear echo all the way towards the mountains. Silence. Then more silence. You are still holding your breath.

“Come in.”

You exhale in relief upon hearing his voice, taking a moment to ready yourself before slowly pushing the door open. Cullen is at his desk, leaning over, looking at his own map strewn with scribbled notes and markers. Without the trademark coat, he almost looks like any other soldier in a shiny suit of plate armor. You wonder if he sleeps in it as you have never seen him wear anything else.

“I ...” you start, “believe this is yours” you say, holding out the coat towards him as you take slow steps towards the desk.

He snaps his head up, almost like he is startled to see you. “Lady Inquisitor. I wasn't expecting you here so early, or ... or, well, expecting you.” In a couple of powerful strides he has narrowed the gap between the two of you and in one fluid motion, takes the coat from your hands and throws it over himself. You watch as he puts his arms through the sleeve-holes and adjusts the hefty collar, admiring how his pale, refined features contrast the wild, dark collar of the coat. He throws a glance your way, “what were you doing in the War Room so late last night, anyway? Is it not enough that you are already working all day and heading The Inquisition?” he folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head to the side. “If my memory serves me correctly, was it not _you_ who asked me once, _'when am I ever not working?'_?”

If it wasn't for his smirk and the glint of mischief in his eyes (or if it was anyone other than him, for that matter), you would have probably taken offence to his accusatory tone. “Speak for yourself. Here you are, barely even at the break of dawn perusing through all your notes.” Slowly you start pacing around the desk with deliberate steps. On the counterattack and feeling more confident, you continue, raising your arm to point at him. “What were _you_ doing in the War Room so late last night, anyway?”

“Well, I ...” Cullen clears his throat, before shaking his head and giving a soft chuckle - the sound sweeter than Leliana's singing. “ _Touché._ ” He pauses, before continuing, “I just thought I would look over some things in a bit of a last-minute preparation for today's council meeting. I did not expect to see you in there, and I did not want to wake you.” The commander breaks away from your gaze by looking off to the side. “I also did not want you getting cold, so I put my coat over you. After you going up against countless demons, I .. uh … _we_ would not want you succumbing to something as simple as a cold or fever.”

Despite the doors being closed, a cold draft blows through the room and you recall the broken, slatted roof of the tower you saw that day you were snooping around with Sera. “It looks like you probably need that coat more than I do.” You are surprised that he doesn't have nicer quarters, given his rank within the Inquisition. Cullen lived in a simple, albeit large room that bore his desk and some bookcases. One wall was adorned with a large statue of an owl in flight. Towards one side, a tall wooden ladder accessed the mezzanine that held his bed aloft from the floor.

“I've slept in worse. Although, climbing that ladder at night after a few too many Dalish ales at the Herald's Rest can prove to be quite the challenge.”

“Perhaps you should visit my quarters one day to see exactly what you are missing out on” you blurt out. That was said aloud, wasn't it? Your heart pounds in your chest and you can feel its thumps all the way into your ears like a war drum as you slowly shift your gaze to the commander. His look of slight bewilderment confirms your fears. There was no way of picking those words back up and mincing them into something entirely not suggestive. Visions of the two of you drunkenly stumbling up the stairs to your quarters and of you straddling his body sprawled out under you on your bed wearing nothing but that damned overcoat fill your mind. “ _Maker, help me_ ” you whisper under your breath.

“I might have to take you up on that offer.” Did he just say that? Your mouth goes dry as you watch him move towards you, his eyes fixated on yours and mouth curved into a rakish half-smile.

Suddenly, a door swings open and an agent barges in. “Commander! I have your report from-”

“Do you _not know_ that you are supposed to _knock_ before storming into my quarters?!” Cullen snaps, clearly agitated, his cheeks taking on a pale pink hue. “Just leave it on the desk.” With that, the agent apologises profusely as he places the envelope on the desk before hurrying out. “I ... suppose we will have to resume this some other time. The council is due to start shortly, so we may as well make our way over to the War Room” he states matter-of-factly as he picks up the envelope and gestures towards the door. You walk out and welcome the chill of the morning air on your flushed face.

_***_

_“Ah, so I see you have a thing for strapping young templars”_

_Dorian always had a way to throw you off guard. Despite being a mage, his words were sharper than any dagger and his observations terrifyingly acute._

_“_ _I don't know what you mean,” you fumble. You know exactly what he means, and you are well aware that lying to the beguiling 'Vint was useless. He could see right through your untruths._

_He gestures for you to come further within an alcove in the library, for a bit more privacy, you presume. The two of you had become particularly close since you had helped him resolve his long-standing issues with his father. Dorian was grateful to have you as a friend, someone who unwaveringly supported him despite his ties with The Imperium, and you were grateful to have him as a confidant, trusting him with your secrets. “I've seen the way you two look at each other during our games of chess.”_

_Call it a tradition of sorts, but whenever possible, yourself, Dorian and Cullen would sit down every Thursday afternoon by the gardens to play a few rounds of chess. It was a welcome distraction from the constant talking about Inquisition-related issues and you always took delight in listening to the banter between the two men when they were up against one another. It felt good to laugh during these dark days. When playing with the commander, you would mostly talk about mundane things - family, the awful swill served at the tavern. There were some days where you didn't even talk at all, catching one another's gazes between moves, sometimes fleetingly, sometimes for what felt like an eternity. As the days wore on, you were finding yourself increasingly attracted to him, however you did not want to jeopardise the situation at large for the sake of what might not even be a lasting romance._

_“But, what about the rumours? People will talk.”_

_“Rumours? Ha! Don't you tell me about rumours. Being a Tevinter mage, I may as well have a large omnipresent banner floating over my head with the words 'Yes, it's me! The Tevinter Mage! I' have come to steal your blood!' on it. Jokes aside, though, there is a little thing called privacy which I am sure you would know how to maintain with your stealthy stealthiness.” The mage's tanned face takes on a look of concern as he gently grabs your upper arm. “He's a good man. Don't let your inaction be something that you regret.”_

_***_

“So, Cullen, you will use your forces to recruit Jean-Gaspard Remache for our cause and Leliana will use her agents to assist in electing the deceased Duke Remache's daughter as the new ruler of Lydes.” Josephine's thick Antivan accent echoed in the room. “Do we all agree?” The four of you nod, signalling the conclusion to the council. Leliana and Josephine make their way to the doors and you turn to follow suit.

“If I may, I would like to have a word with the you before you leave” Cullen's low voice stops you dead in your tracks. “Alone.” The heavy wooden doors close with a resounding thud and you hear footsteps move towards you. You turn around and he is standing right in front of you, closer than any other time you've ever stood when conversing with him. “Are you certain you are fine with handling this for me?” he asks, quietly, referring to his earlier request to obtain information that would prove useful in intercepting the flow of red lyrium to Samson, leader of the Red Templars. Another element of his past that has surfaced to haunt him, along with all of the other demons burdening his spirit.

“You specifically came to me with this request, and it would be a disservice to you for me to have turned it down.” 

“Just, please, take care. The beauty of The Emerald Graves masks the dangers of that place” His concern confuses you. It's not as if it was the first time you've set out on an expedition to dangerous unknown places, or been asked to take down some glorified bandits. His golden gaze softens as he becomes aware of his words. “I apologise. For a moment, I almost forgot that I was speaking to the Herald of Andraste. The woman who emerged from The Breach and became the key to our salvation.” There is hesitation in his voice, “it's just that first I thought I had lost you back at Haven, then there was having to carry your near-lifeless body through the snow to our interim camp. I don't want to have to go through that again.” He raises his hand to meet your cheek, thumb tracing gently along the deep scar running from your jaw to just below your eye. Instinctively you close your eyes, partly because of the phantom pain from the memory of a Venatori's dagger leaving a permanent reminder on your face, and partly because you didn't want to have Cullen's piercing stare reading your every thoughts. 

Time seems to stop as you stand there in silence. That intoxicating smell of fire, earth and wood and the feeling of calloused fingers caressing your face make your knees grow weaker and sends small shivers down your spine. You barely hear the whisper of “forgive me, Maker,” but you feel warm lips against your own and a strong arm around your waist, bringing you closer in a protective embrace. All of those months of playful flirting, the long, silent stares and the heartache of those never-ending days away from Skyhold where all you wanted was to hear his voice, - even if it was just to hear him strategise over the War Table - have you throwing your arms around the taller man's neck, gripping the ruff of fur on his coat and opening your mouth slightly to deepen the kiss in a desperate hunger. Your feet take uneasy backwards steps until you find your back pressed up against the wall, the cold stone  providing a sharp contrast to the heat of his kisses. Before you are both swept up in your desire and perhaps the thought that any of the other advisors could walk in at any moment, the warrior pulls away, his breath noticeably more shallow and with a darker glint in his eyes. “I'm sorry. I've just wanted to do that for such a long time."  Before you both completely break away from one another, you lean up, kissing the corner of his mouth marked by the long, faint line of a scar. The arm that is around your waist becomes tense as he holds you tighter. "I should let you go. Your companions will be waiting for you.”

***

It is with reluctance and a slightly heavier heart that you walk through the doors of the War Room, through the main hall and down the steps into the now-bustling courtyard. “Council hold you up, again?” Blackwall's deep voice enquired. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Dorian, who gives you a knowing nod and a smirk. That all-too-familiar burning sensation returns to your face.

“Yeah ... I guess you could say that." You feel winded, slightly breathless from your earlier encounter. "Are we all ready to go?” Your three companions nod as you each lead your mounts along the narrow bridge to Skyhold's gates that separate safety from the unknown. You head out into the wilderness with a renewed sense of purpose, survival, and hope, ignited by a fire blazing inside you with the love for the armoured man in a fur-collared coat.


End file.
